


the love interest

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 11:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12275823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: He will slip through the window, get rid of the suit, and she will pretend not to ogle him over the top of her book. She doesn’t care about his stupid abs anyway.





	the love interest

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been able to stop thinking about two things: Peter snuggling to MJ while she reads a book, and how much I want MJ to meet both Claire and Jessica so they can have a deadpan-off together.
> 
> The Avengers who? I don't know her.

There is an order to those things, you see. A protocol.

It keeps everyone grounded, and it’s been working just fine until now, so they follow the steps every time and everyone is happy. Peter will get a call, and text the group chat -- her and Ned and May -- and go on his merry way. By the time he arrives wherever he needs to arrive, Ned will be at his computer and May will not be worried and MJ will pretend she’s not watching the news from the corner of her eyes. 

Then Peter will -- do whatever it is that Peter does. Mj has decided a few weeks into their, shudder, relationship that she didn’t want the details. Officially, because she doesn’t care. So she lets him do his thing, and he does it, more or less well. And when he’s done, he texts the group chat again, a peace sign because he’s a nerd, before he’s on his way home.

By that time, if it’s night, MJ will already be in bed, TV switched off because she wasn’t watching the news, her nose in a book. He will slip through the window, get rid of the suit, and she will pretend not to ogle him over the top of her book. She doesn’t care about his stupid abs anyway.

She fixes him up if he needs fixing which, with his fast metabolism and his ever-growing skills, doesn’t happen too often. MJ has the Night Nurse on speed-dial anyway, ever since Peter decided to cozy up with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and almost got himself killed in the process. Then didn’t learn his lesson and got a few bruised ribs from Jessica Jones. 

MJ’s boyfriend may or may not be a moron.

She texted Claire tonight, because he took a blow to the head that, according to him, makes him hear colours, and she wants to make sure. Finals are in a month, he can’t fuck it up for himself right now. So she texts Claire, on a private convo and not on the group chat that Colleen ironically named ‘The Loved Interests’, and Claire texts her back right away. The sigh is kinda implied in her answer, which makes MJ smile. Just a little.

And now, she’s in bed again, with her book again, and her massive puppy of a boyfriend glued to her side. He’s not snoring yet, just vaguely passed out with his head on her stomach and his arms around her side. Snuggling. Gross. As gross as his hair when she runs her fingers through it, and she rolls her eyes.

It’s actually -- nice is not the word. She’s certain there is a word, she isn’t an English major for nothing. She won’t say that being with Peter makes her lose her English, because it’s ridiculous, but, still. If there is a word to describe this feeling between her breastbone when Peter snuggles against her after a dangerous mission.

Well.

She hasn’t found it yet.

She would probably threaten to bodily harm anyone who call that  _ feelings _ , but deep down she knows they would have a point. A few years back, she may even have protested to it, but she did go to prom with stupid Peter Parker, and they did move in together for college. “To share rent” only goes so far. And anyway she knows that a ring is hidden someplace in his socks drawer, probably, because she isn’t stupid. He barely managed to hide his secret identity from her, she has no idea how he believes he can hide the fact that  _ he already bought a ring and may be planning on proposing _ from her.

The disgusting part is that she already knows what her answer will be, if he ever gets his shit together and finds five minutes of chill to do his thing. Sometimes, MJ wonders how she can look at herself in the mirror. It’s so gross.

Her phone chimes at her side, pulling her away from her sappy thoughts. It’s Claire again, advising her to check on Peter every two hours just in case he has a concussion, and to bring him to the ER tomorrow if he isn’t any better. 

MJ pokes his shoulder, twice. He groans.

“What’s your name?”

He groans again. “Peter Benjamin Parker.”

“‘K, good. Date of birth?”

“August 15.”

“Who’s the US President?”

“Oh fuck off.”

That gets a surprised laugh out of her, more of a barking sound than anything, before she lets him bury his face against her stomach. The smile doesn’t linger on her mouth, exactly, but she relaxes a tiny bit before she goes back to playing with his hair. Which she will deny ever doing if he asks. But he doesn’t, instead shifting a little until he finds a more comfortable position, and it is only a matter of minutes before he’s snoring little puffs of breath.

By the time MJ finishes her book, one that she reads for fun instead of the same boring white dudes she has to read for uni, it’s well into the night and the Love Interests conversation has half a dozen new messages. Mostly from Trish, telling everyone Jessica made it back home in one piece, and Misty, explaining what happened because ‘robotic arm’ is a good enough reason to upgrade you from love interest to main character these days. Go figure.

MJ just replies ‘glad nobody died.’ with the period at the end to make it extra sarcastic. Then she snaps a quick picture of Peter and sends it to May, because she will keep worrying otherwise, before she sets her alarm in two hours and puts her phone away. A police car rushes past their street, siren on, startling Peter a little, before he relaxes again and lets MJ move down the bed.

She shifts until she has her back to his chest, his warmth like a cocoon around her. Tomorrow, he will probably complain about her hair in his mouth, in a way that’s more nerdy rambling that actually complains, but for now he just seems content being the big spoon. He sighs against her neck, and she pulls on his arm until he’s holding her close.

“‘Love ya,” he mumbles against her neck.

“Gross.”

He chuckles. 


End file.
